Is this what you wanted?
by My Secret
Summary: A coming of age story: Bella is trying to leave her miserable life in Massachusetts behind, and she's taking Rosalie with her. The girls make the decision to move cross country, but what happens when Bella meets someone along the way? Is Edward willing to be left behind?
1. Chapter 1

Whoever decided that this was supposed to be some magical moment owed me a detailed explanation on what I did wrong. I was 17, and lying beneath Jacob Black, counting the peeling ceiling tiles of his dorm. The hour of awkward making out should have been an indication. The way his tongue darted around my mouth like a puppy licking its owner's face was bad enough. The slobbering had turned me off, but I pushed forward, hoping it was just him being nervous. His canine kisses led to twenty minutes of fumbling; him getting tangled in my tank top, not knowing how to unclip my bra, asking me if he could take my panties off and then staring at them when I said yes- honestly it was like a book on how to have horrible sex playing out before me. But now, the grand finale— my virginity would be no more. I found myself mentally repeating _"this will get good any minute now"._ So far I had endured five minutes of his knees pinching the skin on my thighs while he pushed, grunted and groaned his way to an unearned victory.

Was I supposed to be saying something, or doing something? What were the girls doing in the porn videos Rosalie and I watched? Weren't they moaning, clawing, and gyrating their way to a screaming orgasm? I half-heartedly wrapped my arms around his neck and let out an "ohhh" which seemed to motivate him to thrust harder. Fuck-that is definitely not what I was looking for. I had been told before that this should hurt—that it would be uncomfortable—but I think I misunderstood the kind of "uncomfortable" they were talking about. There wasn't any pain when he entered me, and the only uncomfortable thing I was experiencing was my skin bruising from this idiot's bony knees. I squirmed underneath him, wiggling my hips in hopes that anything at this point would make him finish. I could feel a tingling sensation building in my stomach, but it wasn't enjoyable—it felt like I was going to pee on him. I pivoted my hips up against his, desperately hoping he would finish. _ Cum, you jack ass, cum!_ I even went as far as licking his neck and whispering a few dirty things I wasn't proud of into his disgustingly sweaty ear. I was rewarded with a sound I pictured coming out of Chewbacca, a final heady thrust, and his sweat- covered body collapsing on top of me.

"Wow." He muttered, pulling out slowly.

"Yes. Wow. Wow is a really good word for it." I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I'm so glad I held on to sweet 17, so that I could enjoy this wonderful moment. I, not-so-gently, rolled him off and got up, picking my clothes up from the floor.

"So….this was a … yeah, good night." I tried to smile, but I knew it wasn't touching my eyes. This had been gross. A disgusting mix of bodily fluids I wanted no part of, and hoped I could rid myself of shortly. I quickly pulled my t-shirt and my shorts on, balling my bra and panties up in my right hand. After slipping my flip flops on I eyed the floor, trying to figure out how the hell it swallowed my keys in the last hour and a half, when suddenly the jingling sound caught my attention. I looked up, my eyes turning to small slits as he held them out, a smirk on his face.

"Don't be a stranger." He whispered in what I assumed was his try at "seductive". Of course his try at seductive came out more like a bullfrog, croaking its pickup lines to you, but who was paying attention at this point? I grimaced a little and raised my eyebrows, trying to swallow down the vomit that teased at my throat. I quickly snatched the keys from his hand and made my way out of his dorm, promising myself that I would never darken the doorstep of room 18 ever again.

So what now? That was it? I had conducted my own little version of myth busters and could easily dispel the very definite myths: losing your virginity is NOT always special, and older guys were NOT always better in bed.

It was unfortunate that I'd never be able to hang out with Jacob ever again. He was nice to look at, and the constant rides whenever I needed them didn't hurt. We had met at an AWOLNATION concert months ago, right after my 17th birthday. I was delightfully tipsy, thanks to my acquired fake ID and he was impressed by my intake of cheap tequila. He had offered Rosalie and me a ride home, tucking his number into the pocket of my jean shorts when I got out of his car.

Since then we had been what I called the occasional acquaintance. We caught movies together, and then didn't talk for weeks at a time. We'd go to a show together, and then forget each other existed for a month. On more than one occasion I took over one of the scratched up benches at the skate park and did homework while him and his friends did tricks in front of a Go Pro camera they probably shouldn't have been able to afford. There had never been anything more than a quick hug between us, and now we had gone and ruined that. I could easily admit that I would miss the way his jet black hair hung in his eyes, pulling his flannels up to see what colored shoelace held up his torn jeans, screaming songs at the top of our lungs while we rode around in his beaten up Honda civic. But that was a small price to pay to keep this terrible night buried somewhere in the back of my brain.

In all honesty**,** I knew I would never be able to take him seriously after the _sound_ that came out of his mouth. Even now as I recapped the last two hours I found myself gagging. How could one person sweat so much? Sighing, I let the thoughts swirl around in my mind while I made my way down the stairs of his dorm building and out onto the campus grounds. In hindsight I could see I focused on all the wrong things. His roommate was never around, which was what made the situation so appealing at first. I picked a guy that was attractive, had similar interests and was generally fun to be around. But now that I tossed the idea around more—it sounded like I was describing nothing more than a cute friend, not someone to share a passionate moment with.

I padded across the grass until I came to the bus stop and sat down, gingerly tossing my panties and bra into the trash can next to me. I didn't want there to be any chance that I'd have some flash back one day when I was pulling them out of the dryer, or getting dressed. No—no pair of panties, no matter how much I liked them, wereworth reliving this.

It wasn't like I was some completely detached lunatic; I knew I had just had a relatively important moment in my life—but honestly it didn't feel that important. In the grand scheme of things I knew I'd have sex throughout the rest of my life and this one little insignificant moment didn't seem to be that detrimental. In fact, I was counting on the idea that I would be able to erase this memory in the near future with something much more satisfying—maybe even a guy I was attracted _to._

I yanked my cell phone out of my back pocket, typing out a quick text to Rosalie.

**Rescue me; Operation Bed Jacob has been completed. Need exit, I repeat, need exit. Over.**

Only a minute passed before my phone chirped to me.

**Told you it was going to be bad. Will fetch you from bus stop, over.**

I rolled my eyes and laughed, rubbing my forehead. It was true, she had completely called it. When I had brought up the idea of losing my virginity to Jacob, because logically it had made so much sense to me, she had thrown up multiple caution signs.

"_The sheer fact that you're talking about this with me like it's a homework assignment you have due tells me this is a bad idea. You have not once mentioned wanting anything more with Jacob. You're not even ATTRACTED to Jacob. And it isn't supposed to be scheduled like a doctor's appointment, Bells. You're supposed to feel something for the person."_

I had merely waved her off and told her she was wrong. And per usual, her warning had been correct, and here I was as a return resident to regret city. Rosalie had been my best friend since 5th grade yet I consistently chose not to listen to her advice. It seemed as though we were destined to play the role of the advisor and the never-listening advisee.

"_Don't shave the side of your head, Bells_." She had warned me once, when the style suddenly presented itself to us in 10th grade. So of course when I shaved it, and it looked terrible, I couldn't be mad at her for laughing. I was just starting to spurt my feminine curves, and now I was missing a huge chunk of hair. I pleaded with her to style it; we tried wigs, extensions, hats—hats had been the most successful. Thanks to my impulsive hack job, I went through ages 15 and 16 looking like a mental patient/angry lesbian/just plain ol' sad. Finally, two and a half years and one very well learned lesson later, I was modeling a head full of glossy brown hair that passed my shoulders.

I was curvy, but I took care of my body. Rosalie had tricked me into joining a girl's rugby team when we were younger and I had stuck with it until this past summer. That was the thing about Rosalie and me. If I were alone in this world, I'd probably never try anything new. The cynic in me told me that there were too many things that could go wrong, and more importantly a good chance that I wouldn't gain anything from it. But Rosalie was enigmatic, optimistic, and always ready for the next thing. We were actually both sad to let rugby go, but we had priorities. We were in our last year of high school and I had no desire to tie myself down. I was aching for summer, for my 18th birthday, for the taste of freedom.

Rosalie had agreed to cross the country with me, to take in the west coast and explore it before we buried ourselves in a college setting. She was already 18, licensed and had gotten an early graduation present from her parents; a 2008 Mitsubishi eclipse that lugged us everywhere. She had already known that the second my little Jacob bubble came crashing down, she would once again become my number one source of transportation.

I realized how ridiculous it was that I was turning 18 and not even considering the idea of getting a vehicle. It wasn't that I couldn't drive; I just didn't want to. My family had an ugly history with cars from accidents to DWI's and I figured the longer I put it off, the better. The second the topic even came up, I skillfully turned it somewhere else, or just sang over Rosalie's pestering.

The black eclipse pulled up moments later and I opened the door, sliding in quickly.

"How bad was it?"


	2. Pepperoni and Sausage

"How bad was it?" She asked, idling for a moment next to the curb while her blue eyes found mine. Rosalie was the stereotypical dream girl. She had sparkling blue eyes, long blonde hair, and if she hadn't purposely spent so much time in the sun she'd be as pale as paper. She was a few inches taller than me, easily 5'10 and had the body models dreamed of. She was thin, tone, and had delicate, perfect curves. Honestly, her looks suited her personality. She was beautiful inside and out, and it showed in the way her eyes and skin glowed. The amount of time we spent envying each other's bodies was unhealthy, but who said envy was optional?

"Rose, there aren't words. I literally can't even describe the sounds that came out of him."

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

"Hey, we can't all have smoldering, sexy guitarist lusting after us."

Rosalie blushed, her eyes glazing over a little as she turned to the road with a small smile on her face. She often got that look when she thought of Royce. We had known him for a little more than six months now, and he was perfect for her in just about every way. He was the guitarist of a local band we had caught one weekend at an outdoor festival. He was always wearing jeans that were cuffed at the bottom, his sneakers were never dirty, his button ups always wrinkle-free with the sleeves folded up the elbow, and his hair always looked good. He had blue eyes, just like Rosalie, but his hair was jet black. He was charming, intelligent, and a great musician. In true girl fashion, I often fantasized about the idea of being with someone like him, but I was happy for Rose nonetheless.

They weren't dating; Rosalie had made it clear to him more than once that she didn't want to tie him down when she knew she would be leaving soon. He respected that but continued to take her on dates, and introduce us to his friends. According to Rose the sex was mind-blowing, and I had heard far more details than I would've ever needed.

"Earth to Bells—are you ever going to see him again?" She waved her free hand in front of my face, bringing me back to reality.

"Probably not, I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from laughing if we were face to face."

"Poor guy, I assumed that with the skill he has in skating he would have a little more coordination in the sack." She grinned and turned onto her street, pulling up in front of her house.

As if he could sense that we were talking about him, my phone chirped, Jacob's name appearing a moment after.

"Oh god." I groaned, opening the text message hesitantly.

**Thinking of you pretty girl. **

I rolled my eyes and turned my phone towards Rosalie, earning a chuckle and a forced "aww".

"Maybe he'll get better with time?" She asked, sliding out of the car.

"Yeah, I'm not really looking to wait around and find out. Tell me there's pizza inside."

"Yeah, I ordered it a little while ago. Pepperoni and sausage." She winked, knowing it was my favorite.

Per usual, we were the only ones there. Rosalie lived on a beautiful and quiet street, full of well-manicured, idealistic little cottage type ofhomes. Massachusetts was full of houses like these, and I had grown sick of it as I got older. Why did everything have to be so picturesque? I mean, for fuck's sake, her shutters coordinated with her fucking mailbox. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, and there were sickeningly adorable little gardens placed perfectly beneath the windows in the front of the house. When Rosalie was younger, and her parents were around more, you could often find her mom fiddling with something in the front of the house. Whether it was pulling weeds, or planting something new, or painting the door—she was always worrying about the appearance of the house.

But nowadays Rosalie's parents were often traveling; they recognized that she was self-sustaining and getting close to leaving. They weren't neglectful; they had always made sure they were there for any important events, they called every night, and they made sure she had everything she needed. In turn, Rosalie had all the freedom she could need, a place to stay, and I had a place I could take refuge in. It would be a lie if I said I wasn't envious of Rosalie's home life—but envy didn't change anything.

It wasn't like I was homeless; I just didn't like to be home. My father had found his amusement in the bottom of a bottle, and as drunks usually do, he had made a stupid decision to get behind the wheel. Things wouldn't have been as bad if he hadn't hit someone else…if he hadn't killed the other driver. The court dates were grueling; having to see the other family face to face took a toll on all of us. There were nights I lay awake contemplating what the other family was doing, how they were getting by without the man of the house. Regardless of his mistakes, we stuck by him, attending each and every part of the trial until the bitter end. By the time my father was finally locked up, my mom had been on the deep side of the deep end. She worked continuously, and whenshe wasn't at work, she locked herself in her room and read, slept, or sat in front of her computer doing God knows what. She rarely said a word to me, and when she did her eyes were void, her lips pressed together tightly as if the conversation was more than she could handle.

I couldn't pretend it didn't hurt; but I couldn't blame her either. He had taken everything that was good and expelled it from her like a reversed exorcism. I had watched the light in her eyes go out, slowly, and it broke my heart. I had noticed the differences in myself as well, but I ignored them. I wanted to believe they'd get better over time, that after a while I would be okay.

So instead of wallowing in self-pity at our once happy home, I stayed at Rosalie's most of the week, and we cultivated our own little family. I checked on my mom every now and then to make sure she was still breathing, but the checks were few and far apart, and the conversations were short.

I followed Rosalie into the house and made my way up the stairs and into the bathroom, throwing myself into the purifying rays of hot water. More than anything, I needed to get his sweat off of me—though secretly I knew I was trying to scrub the whole experience offmy skin. I scrubbed roughly, ignoring the red-tinge I was getting. I needed him gone from my brain, and right now that meant a full exfoliation was in order. As I tortured my flesh, I let my mind wander, considering the short road ahead of us.

There were three months left of the school year. I had saved every penny I had earned from random part-time jobs, and knew that graduation money was lurking in my near future. The dishwashing, waiting tables, grocery shopping for elderly and occasional tour guide jobs had seemed pretty terrible at the time, but the money had definitely added up. And even though my parents were a mixture of irresponsible and neglectful, I wasn't completely alone. I still had both sets of grandparents, and they contacted me often. The money they had sent me over time had added to my hefty little bank account and I was proud to say I was almost at $10,000 now. I knew that between us getting across the country, paying for a security deposit and getting some new things, the money would dwindle quickly—but it would keep us comfortable for a little while. Rose had been saving too and between the two of us I had no concerns.

I closed my eyes as the hot water pelted my skin, my mind running through the sequence of events from tonight. It had just been so disappointing. It seemed like within the last few years of my life, disappointing was a pretty common description I applied to things. It was disappointing that my dad wasn't smart enough to avoid cars while he was drunk, it was disappointing my mother suddenly thought she could just throw away the duty of BEING a mother, and it was disappointing that Jacob had been so… _bad. _

I shrugged it off and stepped out, wrapping a fluffy towel around my body before I made my way to the guest room. My clothes were all stuffed in the closet but I hadn't changed the room at all—this was only temporary. It seemed that I was constantly in a state of uproot—never fully stable. I yearned for a place that I could call mine. A place where I felt welcome, whereeverything had its place, where I didn't live out of bags—and maybe that's why Seattle wasso important to me. I riffled through my things until I came across a pair of sweat pants and one of my dad's old work t-shirts. After slipping them on, I bounded downstairs towards the heavenly scent of melted cheese and delicious toppings.

"I was looking on craigslist and there's this bar and grill in Seattle that's hiring hostesses and waitresses for the summer. It says they're looking for people starting July 1st. Should I email them?" She was folded into the black leather recliner; her Sony Vaio perched on her lap, and a paper plate full of pizza delicately balancing on the arm of the chair.

"Definitely! Fuck, email any of 'em. Cleaning lady, sexy phone operator, bus monitor—whatever you can find!" I flailed my arms in excitement, earning a laugh. I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a can of soda, then loaded a plate up with a few slices.

After squirming around on the ridiculously expensive leather couch that matched its equally expensive brother, the recliner, I found the perfect spot. I pulled the pizza into my lap, taking a generous bite from the first slice, my eyes rolling back in my head in the only kind of gasm I'd be experiencing, a _foodgasm._

"Sexy phone operator? What do you have to offer the perverts paying to whack it to a girl's voice?"

I put on my best husky voice, turning my slice of pizza into a mock phone. "Come dig your knees into my thighs, big boy. That thrustin' is reaaal good, you want me to lick your sweaty little skin?"

Rosalie began choking, her eyes tearing up as she tried laughing and swallowing at the same time. She wiped the tears off and shook her head, looking back at the screen.

"I emailed the bar and told them we were interested, and that we both have previous experience as waitresses**.**They don't need to know it was only for three months at a diner that barely got business."

I laughed and nodded, going back to the job of devouring my pizza. Maybe things would work out; maybe the word disappointing would take a backseat for a little while.


End file.
